


Before I Loved You (Nothing Was My Own)

by Narcissistic_Ninny



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narcissistic_Ninny/pseuds/Narcissistic_Ninny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, he loves his brother so much, he lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before I Loved You (Nothing Was My Own)

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Sonnet XXV, a poem by Pablo Neruda.

 

The first time Sam asks, Dean grins, empty like all the smiles he’s used to giving, the way he smiles at cops and lies through his teeth, the same smile he uses to pick up girls with a gentle touch on their back and a few pretty words, Dean uses that same smile, says, “No.”

Sam nods, hiding his face in Dean’s chest; his nose rubbing into his shirt; arms linking around his waist, and just holds Dean. He’s shaking, and Dean embraces him tightly, his hand rubbing his back, feeling the muscles under his little brother’s shoulders tremble and flinch from his touch. He gets like this sometimes, and Dean can calm him right back down, just like he did when they were kids and Sam had a nightmare.

The covers are around his knees, Dean’s starting to get tall, too big to share a bed with Sam. They aren’t boys anymore; Sam isn’t coming to him because of nightmares of monsters and everything they know that’s out there in the dark. No, this is different. Dean can’t chase away the monsters haunting Sam.

Dean tells him it’s okay. They’re okay.

 

**

 

They’re not.

 

**

 

His hands reach out for him in the dark, fingers finding the button of his brother’s jeans. The zipper being slid down sounds so loud inside the quiet room. There’s a quiet sigh, Sam’s soft little noises never failing to go straight to Dean’s cock. Dean scissoring into his hot body with slick fingers, taking pride in the fact that he’s the first one to do this, the only one who’s watched Sam arch off the bed, mewl and moan so sweetly when he fucks him open with his fingers.

And when Sam begs, crawling at Dean’s back, telling him, _Fuck me, stop teasing me you jerk, just fuck me_ , well, Dean can’t exactly say no to that. There’s not a lot of things that Dean can deny his brother. And later, when their bodies are wet and slick with sweat and semen, they share a smile they only save for each other. They call each other brother, and it just makes them hard again.

Sam touches his lips when he thinks Dean isn’t looking, and Dean just knows he’s thinking about how Dean left his lips bruised and pink and swollen, his taste on his tongue. It’s what Sam asks for, and Dean will give him anything, so he does.

Boys his age, they’re off kissing girls from their class, girls they aren’t related to. Sam, his head never stops going over what they’re doing, just how wrong it is. Sam, he has to lie about who left those hickeys on his neck.

Dean knows Sam wishes things were different. Sam, he doesn’t stop what they’re doing, but doesn’t ever give protest. But all their touches are in the dark, their secret and theirs alone, each other’s forbidden desire. Dean looks at him sometimes, and he wishes things were different too.

 

**

His wild mane of hair in his eyes, he tells Dean, breaks the news and Dean feels the world come crashing down around him. He feels like he can’t breathe, and he wants to cry, beg Sam to stay. He would do anything for his brother, kill for him, go to jail for him, die for him. He would do all that in a heartbeat, but he can’t do this, he can’t just let Sam leave.

Really, he knows Sam needs a normal life, wants that life. Hell, he deserves it. And Dean feels like an asshole for wanting to stop him, wanting to keep him all to himself. He wants to be selfish like their dad, keep Sam close and protect him like he’s always done, like he’s been told to. Since that night with the fire, since that night Dean stopped being a boy and started being his brother’s protector.

Sam deserves better, deserves so much more than the life Dean and their dad could provide. He deserves the life Dean can’t give him. Dean just doesn’t know what he’ll do without him. Sam is his everything. It’s a change Dean doesn’t want to deal with. He can take living without his mother and never having a home, having to make a living off hustling pool and credit card fraud, but living without Sam sitting next to him in the impala, him there on the road with him, he just doesn’t think he can take it.

He loves Sam so much, he just wants Sam there with him.

Dean, he loves his brother so much.

He lets him go.

 

**

 

Dean’s nineteen and Sam doesn’t need the darkness to feel comfortable around him anymore. They fuck with the lights on now, looking right into each other’s eyes, leaving no room for denial later. Sam doesn’t have a problem with leaving the lights on, he doesn’t call Dean brother in whispered tones anyways, Sam calls his name, and it’s all Dean can ever hear anymore. His shouts, his mewls when he comes, always leaving candy pink lines down his back when he squeezes around Dean. Sam and his smile, his hands reaching for Dean, his hands haven’t shaken in a long time. They aren’t nervous about undressing Dean or about taking him in hand, bringing him to spine melting orgasm.

Sam’s okay with kissing wetly in public, in towns where strangers don’t know they’re related. They do it, reckless like other teenagers, but afterwards, always afterwards, Dean can see a sadness there. Sometimes when they kiss, there’s a heaviness in Dean’s chest when he catches that look in his brother’s eyes.

They both dream of living a normal life, settling down, having a house like they haven’t had in years, having a lawn to mow. Dean, he fucks Sam, loves Sam more than he can ever describe to anyone, loves him so much he’s willing to give Sam anything if he just asked. But he can’t give Sam the life he wants. They could never settle down together, tell people they’re both related and a couple. It doesn’t matter how much they love each other. They go into new towns, investigating new cases, and they don’t tell anyone they’re brothers, touching each other in ways brothers shouldn’t.

Dean’s not stupid.

They could never be together the way they want.

Sam, he looks so sad for a fifteen year old, with eyes much too old for his face.

 

**

 

The room reeks of sex. The hotel room they’re in has way too much beige for it to be okay, and the room doesn’t have a decent wifi connection, but it doesn’t matter.

Kisses fall on his skin, Sam’s wet lips sweeping over him, thirsty as he collects sweat with his tongue. His moist lips, his destructive hands, hungry for him, tearing him apart, bruising Dean’s flesh. Later, they’ll be marks on his skin; impressions of Sam’s fingers on his hips, depressions of his teeth on his neck, the collar of his shirt will be stretched out. Dean won’t bother trying to cover them up.

Sam, he knows Dean’s body like he knows his stupid textbooks. But Dean, he can map out Sam’s body. He knows every story behind each scar. The cracks under his heels and on his knuckles, Dean knows them all. Knows all the moles on his back, the dimples on his cheeks, knows the drips and grooves of his muscled back and torso. He can see the flecks of colors in his eyes in his sleep, knows all the angles and the juts of his body, can trace his tattoo with his eyes closed.

Dean, he can pleasure to Sam, can unwind him enough to make Sam sob and beg for Dean to bring him to release. He knows exactly how to touch him, how to tease him, how to fuck him, how to make love to him. Sam, his long hair, it’s perfect for yanking, perfect for when Dean needs something to hold onto when Sam’s shoulders are bruised. Dean knows Sam’s body better than he knows his own.

His entire body was made for him.

And Dean was made to protect him.

Dean, he can get drunk off of Sam’s kiss, get blinded by his blazing smile. Sam, that damn smile that Dean just melts for, he reaches up and cups Dean’s jaw. His smile, it’s so wide and childlike, but they both haven’t been children in some time. If they ever were.

He knows how shattered his heart is, knows how deeply Sam can love.

“I love you.”

He smiles back, says, “I love you too, Sammy.”

Dean was made to love him.                  

If that’s his sentence, Dean’s happy to carry it out.

 

**

 

There’s only one bullet left in his gun. There’s blood on Sam’s face, streaked across his cheeks, smudged like the wet paint of a child’s drawings. There’s cuts on his hands and arms. Nothing that will scar. Sam can shoot and kill, trained since he was a little kid to be a warrior. He’s been dead before. He had been in hell.

They both had gone through so much.

Sam, he still thinks he’s a freak. Thing is, Dean knows they are. They could never truly fit in with people. They had both had their chances, their time spent living the normal life, sharing a home with a beautiful girl, but they were always dragged right back here.

Back to each other like they could never say away, a phantom rope always tugging them right back to each other. Back to throwing away ruined, bloodied shirts, back to calloused hands, to buying ammo and cleaning their guns, to buying lighters to burn a corpse, back to dirt and grit under their finger nails, back to eating in diners and filling up the impala’s tank in a gas station in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Back to marking places on the map, cities most people have never heard of. Back to researching and hunting and killing, to watching out for each other’s back and just living to survive another day.

Beautiful, broken Sam.

Dean loves him just as he is. Dean will take him as he is, all that sadness and anger deep inside him, Dean loves every part of Sam. Sam, with his hair a wild mop of a mess, sticking in different directions, blood in between his gums and his teeth, he smiles at Dean, looking so sick and crazy. He should look terrifying, smiling like a serial killer, but Dean thinks he looks beautiful. Sam’s eyes have never shone more brightly.

They fall into a deep kiss, Sam’s hand cradling the back of his neck.

Sometimes, when Sam has his tongue inside Dean’s mouth, Dean swears he can taste the ancient ashes of hell on Sam. The smell of burnt bodies, all the skeletons they burn in consuming fires they light. Sometimes, he can smell the sour, bitter scent of blood on him, the overwhelming stench of death they both carry. They have more blood on their hands than anyone can imagine.

Sam’s fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss into something deadly, Dean’s knees go weak.

 

**

 

Every night, before he falls asleep, all he can think about is Sam. Sam, his beautiful face, his hands on his body, his bright eyes and his cute dimples, the question he asked Dean. That question kept Dean up most nights.

Dean, he goes out to find girls the same way his dad goes out to find alcohol. Both of them are just looking to forget. He fucks girls, eats them out, losing himself in their scent and their bodies, and for a while, he can forget about Sam. His little brother off in college; making a life for himself. He goes back to his motel room, reeking of sex and alcohol, smoking a cigarette, the taste of those girls still on his lips. He touches his lips, the same way he caught Sam doing so many times. He lies in bed, thinking of Sam, can’t ever forget about Sam, can’t ever stop thinking about Sam.

Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam…

His hand wanders down his belly, dipping into the band of his underwear, his fingers wrapping around his cock.

He wonders if Sam met a girl, or a boy. He wonders if Sam misses their dad, misses hunting. He knows Sam is probably doing good in school, he worries if Sam is okay, if he’s safe, if he’s hurt. Most nights, when he’s not thinking about Sam’s question, he wonders if Sam misses him as much as he does. Most nights, it feels like he needs Sam so much more than Sam needs him.

And it hurts.

Because Sam was able to leave. Dean knows himself, he would be happy to stay by Sam all his life. But Sam. Sam and his temper, Sam and his fights with dad, he was never afraid to say or do what he wanted. Even if leaving meant saying goodbye to Dean.

It hurts so much.

Dean wonders if Sam touches himself at night and thinks of Dean. Wonders if he kisses girls and compares them to the way Dean kissed him, the way Dean compares girls to Sam. And. No girl can fill the void. And there’s nothing wrong with the girls. The only problem is that they’re not Sam.

Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam…

Eyes squeezed shut; he paints his stomach with his own cum. His hand is all sticky and wet, he pants hard, taking in big gulps of air, coming down from his orgasm, and he still can’t get Sam out of his head.

He feels so sick.

 

**

 

The kiss is violence and frenzied.

Sam’s shaking fingers clutch at his hair. It’s not long enough to pull, but Sam is making due with what he has, nails ruthless on Dean’s scalp. Dean, he feels like something has been let loose inside him, hands wild, not the practiced hands he has when he’s with girls, but wild and desperate on Sam’s body, running over him with hunger he had never known.

They bite; tasting blood, suck on each other’s lips, tongues fucking each other’s mouths, breathing heavily through their noses. All Dean can feel is his heart hammering in his chest, Sam’s rushed, quick intakes of breath against his face. They have never kissed before; not once, but he knows Sam’s thought about it before. Dean certainly has. It’s been in his mind for what feels like forever. They had just never crossed that line.

Together they both crossed that line, knowing there was no way in hell they were ever going to go back.

Sam, he’s standing on his toes just to kiss Dean, his hands pulling Dean down by the lapels of his jacket, pressed up against the length of Dean’s long body. He’s half hard against him, rutting like the inexperienced, clumsy teenager that he is. Dean, he’s not a virgin, but he’s blushing like one, face more flushed than the first time a girl got on her knees and sucked him off.

When they break the kiss, Dean cups Sam’s face in his hands, and he sees the panic in Sam’s eyes, like it just hit him that they’re brothers who just shared a kiss. He has a look on his face that Dean doesn’t ever want to see again. Dean’s hands grabs Sam, jerks him forwards, holds him to his chest, rubs his back, rests his chin on Sam’s head, whispers to him that it’s okay, Sam muttering into his chest, “We’re freaks.”

Dean, he loves his brothers so much, he lies.

Says, “No we’re not.”

 

**

 

Dean had meant to stay away.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. He always looked for a reason to go to Sam, but kept his distance. Then dad left and not come back, and Dean had an excuse to find Sam, and he took that chance.

After their trip to northern California, they’re on the road, and it’s what Dean had wanted. But Sam hasn’t mentioned anything from the past, _their_ past, doesn’t reach for Dean or look at him like before. But he’s not a little kid anymore; he won’t come running into Dean’s arms when he cries for Jess. Dean gets that, so he doesn’t ask for it.

Two nights later, in a motel room, Sam’s fingers ghost over his belly, his hand finding their way under Dean’s T-shirt, his palm warm and smoothing, his hot breath in Dean’s ear, his erection rubbing against Dean’s ass.

It had been a good way to wake up.

Sam’s hand grips Dean and turns him to lie on his back, his hot mouth and his wet tongue, his kisses taste like home. He covers Dean with his body, sending a shiver up Dean’s spine when he realizes, not for the first time, his brother is not so little anymore. They don’t undress all the way, just have time to yank down each other’s boxers, but it’s still not fast enough.

His huge hands are rough and unforgiving as he grips the meat of Dean’s ass, fucking him into the mattress, and Dean can only hang on, gasp for breath, arch off the bed and clutch his brother’s shoulders. He’s gotten bigger, he’s not the skinny little brother he once had, he can pin Dean down and Dean can’t deny the spike of arousal that grows inside him at the possibilities for later.

Dean lets him completely dominate him, break him apart with pleasure. He kisses much better than before, and Dean wonders if he learned from Jess, but it doesn’t matter because it’s his name on his baby brother’s lips, saying it over and over again, screaming it when he comes. Sam, he’s everything he had missed, everything he couldn’t get from a one-night stand.

After they come, Sam shivers in his arms like he was the one that had been taken, shaking and trembling and Dean holds him tight, kissing him sweetly, his fingers carding through his sweaty mop of hair. Sam asks again, that same damn, fucking question. Dean’s heard Sam ask millions of times before.

He’s getting sick of tired of lying.

 

**

 

It’s easy to forget about angels and demons when Dean’s with Sam.

Sam’s tongue inside his mouth, his big hands grasping him, squeezing Dean like he’s a lifeline, Dean forgets all about God. It’s easy to. Sam’s love is heaven enough. His devouring mouth is heaven on Earth, all he’ll ever need in this world.

Dean, he grew up with nothing, but Sam, he’s his.

Hell was living without Sammy.

Days when he didn’t breathe, days when he swore he knew what Sam felt when he walked around without a soul, because Dean was missing a part of himself. Days when his eyes searched for him, when the sight of long hair and plaid shirts over solid, broad shoulders made Dean look twice, made him hope before that earth scattering disappointment would settle in when he realized it wasn’t Sam.

Nights when he remembered holding Sam in his arms, making love to him, bathing him in kisses, the anguish he felt when the weight of his loneliness and Sam’s absence settled and it was too much. Because, for the first time in his life, he was utterly alone.

Sam, his tongue and teeth and demanding hands, leaving bruises on Dean’s skin; marking him up, claiming him like he’s property, Dean just moans, fingers twisting in Sam’s hair. Dean doesn’t have time to be the righteous man, not when he’s so full of shit, not when he’s got his tongue in his little brother’s mouth. Sam, his hands down the front of Dean’s pants, he doesn’t have time to care about the devil.

He realizes, God and the Devil, they don’t matter. All that matters is Sam. With Sam, Dean can breathe.

Because God, the angels, everyone he’s ever met, out of them all, none of them love him like Sam loves him.

 

**

 

Some days it’s just too much.

But Sam’s hands keep him steady, his lips kiss away the heaviness Dean always feels, that feeling he’s carried since he can remember. That sadness is just a part of him he can’t hide anymore. They pound into each other, all rhythm lost as they rip into each other’s skin. Dean bites out his frustrations on Sam’s neck and shoulders, Sam clutching him tight, bruising him with thick fingers, leaving angry bruises on his skin.  

On these nights, Sam snaps his hips forward, buried in as deep as he can inside Dean’s body, like he’s punishing them both. Dean doesn’t care, he bites the tender skin of Sam’s neck, Sam’s rigid cock filling Dean so good, Sam groaning, saying Dean’s name over and over again. Dean can only gasp, crawl at Sam’s back, telling Sam to move faster, even if Sam is already going at pace that will make Dean ache.

They come, all fireworks and stars and white behind their eyes, coming so good it feels like it’ll go on forever, until they finally come down and Dean can’t remember ever feeling so exhausted. So good.

The afterglow doesn’t last long. Sam, voice thick, he asks, “Is there something wrong with us?”

Dean, he hides his face in Sam’s sweaty hair, breathing in his scent. After all these years, all those nights thinking and wanting, he’s finally able to tell the truth. Whispers, “Yeah, probably.”

Sam’s shoulders ease from tension, like the confirmation just deflated something inside him, and Sam feels so heavy, resting over Dean’s body. Sam buries his face further into Dean’s skin, and he’s a kid again, seeking comfort in his older brother, wanting to hide from the world. Dean is his protector, the one who always watched out for him.

Only when they were kids was he glad for the monsters, because it always brought Sam into the circle of his arms at night, when he had nightmares. Now, more than anything, he just wants to prove that he’s not a monster. Dean pushes at Sam’s shoulder until he falls on his back, and climbs over his body, lining his hips against Sam’s, pressing against him, his intention clear as he grinds down on him, Sam’s eyes glassy when he opens his eyes and looks at Dean, sitting in his lap.

“There is something wrong with us Sammy,” Dean says again.

Sam gasps, his hands gripping Dean’s ass, bringing him closer, bring his hips up to rub against Dean. He doesn’t even mind at all when Dean rakes his fingers down his chest, nails cruel, Dean’s grin wicked.

“Yeah, there is,” Sam agrees.

They kiss, putting their all behind it, kissing so hard because it doesn’t matter anymore. They were not saved by God. They were damned anyways, so they might as well go down together.

 

 


End file.
